Old World Blues Part 3
by ougabouga
Summary: The investigation into the attack on the Courier continues, leading to some disturbing possibilities.


**Old World Blues Part 3**

Chapter 1

"What can you tell me of him?" The Courier was surprised to find himself shaken. He'd survived far worse than this. Why, how had this lone man, with one badly aimed bullet, shaken him so badly? Christine was disturbed too, though he could tell she was trying to hide it.

"Aren't you glad you listened to me?"

"Yes. Who was he?"

"His ID papers say his name was Enrique Gonzalez. An NCR citizen who passed through Mojave outpost 4 days ago. I've hacked into NCR's computer network but found no trace of him. Most likely that name's an alias. He was monitored walking away from the Gun Runners booth one day ago with a hunting rifle. He tried to get into the strip but couldn't pass the credit check. He then spent a few hours at the Atomic Wrangler."

"It looks like NCR." Christine remarked.

"I postulate a 70% chance this was NCR, boss." Yes Man concurred.

"I guess." The Courier looked out the window, lost in thought.

"Yes Man, see if you can get the NCR President on the line."

"Sure thing, boss."

There was a delay of a half hour before the President appeared onscreen. The Courier didn't doubt this was intentional. The President was a dour looking woman, puffy cheeks, greying black hair. She was probably in her forties but she looked a decade older. Her face wore a serious expression.

"Hello. I'm President Cheryl Tandi. It's good to meet our new neighbor to the North. You've certainly taken your time in contacting us. Congratulations on your new position. I hope a positive dialogue can exist between our two nations." False courtesies. Par for the course.

"Mister, eh... What do I call you?"

"Courier."

"But... surely you have a proper Christian name?"

"I have a name that was thrust upon me when I was born out of a womb. An Old World name. Courier is the name I've chosen for myself. It is a name history will remember." There were times he couldn't avoid sounding like Ulysses.

"You're not the first person to choose a _nom de guerre_. But surely..."

"I am he who is."

It was like he'd slapped her. She took a few moments to recover.

"Well... I suppose modesty is not one of your vices."

He said nothing, continuing to stare at her.

"Well, mister, eh, Courier. Let me begin by saying that I regret any past acts of aggression committed by the NCR against your territory. It was a... misjudgment of previous administrations. I assure you these will not reoccur in the future. We have... other tactical and strategic priorities at the moment. Your arrival made us realize it was time to... re-examine our priorities."

"I'm relieved to hear that."

"And let me further state that we recognize your... forthrightness with NCR citizens, allowing free transit, and such. This act shows us you're not hostile to our interests. We also recognize the value of the electricity you supply to our northern lands. We find the current rate quite generous, compared to what some of our private monopolies charge."

The Courier nodded. "Let me state that I have only the warmest intentions to the NCR and that the methods I chose were chosen because they minimized NCR casualties."

"Yes, we recognize that." She blinked involuntarily. A lie.

"I regret not contacting you sooner, but building a nation is very time consuming. I regret I have no further time to spare, but I've enjoyed our chat today and I looked forward to further talks in the future."

"As do I, Mr. Courier. Perhaps one day we can re-open our embassy in your fair city. Good day to you."

He sighed as Christine sat on the sofa next to him, they put their arms around another and he caressed her fine hair. Something about this didn't feel right. It made sense for them to do something like this, especially out in the open, where it would damage his credibility and make him look vulnerable. It was a win-win from their limited point of view. It was those assassin's last words. They didn't sound like typical NCR jargon. He thought there was some Latin in there. It wasn't like the NCR to use Latin. Could he have worked for the Legion?

"Yes Man, get Arcade in the Big MT for me."

There was a delay before Arcade's face appeared on the big screen.

"What is it?" Arcade asked. "I was told it was urgent?"

"Yeah it is. It's a bit... complicated but something happened today, I was... attacked...and the attacker, I think he used some Latin. I could use your help."

"Sure."

"He said Semper Fi."

Arcade nodded. "Sempier Fidelis. Means Always Loyal or Always Faithful. It was used as the slogan of a few pre-war military outfits, like the United States Marine Corps. More recently, though not surprisingly, it was often used in the Enclave. What was the context?"

The Courier repeated them.

"Yeah, that's standard Enclave mantra. Embellished a bit, but that sounds like Enclave to me."

The Enclave. Another ghostly apparition.

"Did the Legion ever use those words?"

"Not that I know."

The Courier thanked him.

"Still think it's the NCR?"

"My calculations haven't wavered." Yes Man began. "I detected several behavioural traits that indicate the President was lying. They stand the most to gain by knocking you off. It's possible the usage of Semper Fidelis was meant as a red herring, since you're known to have associated with Remnants of the Enclave and everyone associates Latin with the Legion."

That was true. "Does the Enclave even... exist now?"

"Unknown. There are rumours of Enclave outposts scattered throughout the wastes, but nothing confirmed. It's possible they're existing much like their former nemesis, the Brotherhood of Steel, in isolated bunkers, marking time until they die off."

"I need to think over this."

He and Christine lay in bed, silently holding another. They did not sleep that night.

Chapter 2 

"I think we have to do some detective work." The Courier said, strapping into his Elite Riot Armour, by far the favourite of all the gear he'd found over his travels and adventures.

Christine nodded anxiously as she stepped into some modified Combat Armour. The new Armour was part of Yes Man's new precautions. News of the assassination attempt had spread like wildfire. Some of the public were angry at the news, blaming the NCR. A few NCR citizens had been assaulted on the Strip. Only the Securitrons had stopped these people from being beaten to death. It was heartening to know they cared about his safety; it was proof that his good deeds had not gone unnoticed. But the violence was regrettable, counterproductive; it would only complicate things with the NCR.

"We'll be okay." He held Christine's arm. She nodded weakly and tried to smile, but it didn't work.

"You can stay here."

She vigorously shook her lead and her eyes bore into his. "I love you."

Nothing more needed to be said.

A small crowd had gathered outside the Lucky 38, being held at bay by a wall of Securitrons. A few bouquets of Honey Mesquite had been placed at the 38's entrance. They cheered when he exited. He awkwardly waved to them, having never been the receiver of public affection.

"What do I do?" He asked Christine.

"I don't know... give them a speech maybe?"

He groaned. "I'm not exactly big on speeches." He'd rather run through a Deathclaw Infested cave with nothing other than a party hat than give a speech. But the crowd wasn't dispersing. He removed the facemask from his helm and spoke to the crowd.

"People of New Vegas..." He began, cringing inwardly. "Thank you for your support. It means a lot to me. It reminds me that all I've done hasn't gone unnoticed. It also reminds me, we still have a lot of work to do. And no one is going to stop us." They cheered.

"Remind them not to assault random strangers." Christine chided.

"And... whatever you may feel, remember, mob violence is not the solution. Those responsible will be uncovered and I alone will make them pay a price."

The crowd cheered and dispersed, as ordered by the Securitrons. He silently cursed; a few weeks ago he was able to walk freely along these streets without protection. Now he had to be fully armoured with a couple of Securitrons.

"You think that was a good speech, ED-E?"

ED-E beeped affirmatively.

"ED-E, I think we should change your battle music."

ED-E strenuously objected and the Courier and Christine laughed.

They walked to the Atomic Wrangler. Francine Garrett was tending the bar.

"Hi there. How are you doing?" She asked, genuinely concerned.

"I'm okay when people aren't taking potshots at us." He admitted.

"What'll it be? I haven't seen you here too often lately. I could use your debt collecting skills again."

"No thanks, I'm too busy right now. Look, the guy who shot us, spent some time here, lost a fair amount of caps. Remember him?"

Francine nodded.

"Yeah he showed up midday. He had a few beers and told me he thought Vegas was stuck up because of the Credit Check. I told him our slots were a good way to gain some caps. He spent... I don't know, maybe 2 hours at those things before he ran out of chips... He was really drunk by then... He was ranting and raving about how Vegas was a rip-off and something had to change. I had one of the guard escort him out."

"Which guard?" Francine pointed him out. "Anything else you remember about him."

Francine shrugged. "We get lots of people who lose a lot of caps and get mad about it. He's the first one to ever try to take a shot at the big boss."

"Thanks."

They walked to the guard. "Remember the guy you threw out the other day."

The Guard nodded. "Yeah. Heard he took a shot at ya. What an asshole."

"What do you remember of him?"

"Not much, he's just like every other broke bum I have to drag out of this joint. Well, actually, there was one thing. When I kicked him out he was hollering and swearing and shit. And there was this ghoul just outside, watching him. I never saw a ghoul like him, he was dressed to the fuckin' nines, you know? This ghoul walks over to the guy and starts talking to him."

"Did you hear him?"

"No, he was too far. I could tell he had some kind of...weird accent, like he wipes his ass with silk toilet paper, you know?"

"Thanks."

"Dean Domino." Christine and the Courier said simultaneously.

Chapter 3

"Swank. Where's Dean?"

The last time Swank saw the Courier with that look in his eyes, he'd slaughtered Benny. It was best not to interfere. There was no better friend, and no worse enemy.

"He's in the performers change room backstage. Listen, don't make a big mess like time, alright?"

They didn't hear his plea.

Dean Domino was enjoying the luxuries of being the new star attraction of the Tops Casino. His Pre-War image could still be found inside these walls. His voice was still strong and resonant for a ghoul his age, though the days of doing two hour shows were long gone. His peers, if they could be termed as such, were mediocrities. There was the singer Bruce Issac, some lonesome drifter with a twangy guitar, and a couple of unfunny "comedians". Third raters, the lot.

He was shocked, though not altogether surprised when his door was kicked in. He was thrown out of his chair onto the floor. Christine's boot was on his throat and the Courier stood above him, eyes full of vengeance, and a bloodstained combat knife in his hand.

"Well, I see Zeus and Hera have descended from Mount Olympus to associate with us pitiable poor mortals." He said with obvious disdain. The Courier knew that tone of voice well, it was the same tone he used when speaking of Frederick Sinclair.

"You were seen conversing with a man who later tried to kill us. Talk."

"Or what?"

"Or you'll find out how unpleasant Cazadors can be."

"I survived two hundred years in the Madre. I think I can handle a few bugs."

Christine grabbed his arm and twisted it, breaking it. The Ghoul cried out in pain. Broken bones didn't heal like they used to. They didn't heal at all, in fact.

"Ok... ok...I'll talk." He gasped for air. Christine lessened the pressure on his throat. Slightly.

"I met that chap outside the Wrangler. He was quite displeased about losing his caps. He told me he desperately wanted to get into the strip. He was desperate for money, creditors were after him. I told him I'd sponsor him, I'd be his guide. I leant him 2000 caps to pass the check. I took him through the staff entrance here. He had front row seats to my performance. Alas, he wasn't impressed. I spoke with him after the show. Said he thought Vegas was full of uppity shit. He gave me half of my caps back and said he was going to stay at Vault 21 for the night then head back to the NCR. That was the last I saw or heard of him. I swear."

"Why'd you lend him caps? You're not the philanthropic type." The Courier asked.

"I thought he deserved a shot to win a fortune here. There's no harm in giving a man a chance, is there?" He could tell they didn't believe him. "A long, long time ago. I was trapped, singing in dank bars in some small, forgotten town, hosting karaoke nights, wasting my talents. I knew I had a great voice, but I was broke. I needed a record deal, a big showcase gig, a break, anything to get me noticed. One day, after slogging through some Sinatra number for the hundredth time, a man approached me. He said he was with a record company and wanted me to record a single. He showed me his card. He arranged the recording session. 3 Months later, I was a star. You see, if that man didn't take a chance on me, a lowdown stranger stuck in the middle of nowhere, I would've been stuck in that dank shithole of a town forever. I figure the kid needed a shot, just like I did, once."

The Courier and Christine looked at another. He could be telling the truth, he could also be lying. It was hard to trust Dean; you never knew when he was twisting the knife in your back. Sinclair and Vera Keyes didn't know until it was too late.

"I'm holding you in custody." He motioned to a Chairman bodyguard, hovering nervously outside the room. "Take him to the holding cell, in the old NCR MP HQ." The Chairman nodded. A Securitron was waiting outside, to ensure Dean went to his intended destination. The Courier thought it odd Dean didn't protest this.

Chapter 4 

"Oh, hi there! If it isn't my favourite Vault explorer... Speaking of which, it's been a while since my vault's been explored!" Sarah Weintraub greeted them cheerfully.

"What is it with you, anyway?" Christine sardonically remarked. The Courier shook his head and waved his hand.

"Oh, you don't need to worry about me, missy. I don't mind sharing."

"I do." Christine said firmly.

"Look," The Courier began, eager to change the subject. "You heard what happened?"

Sarah nodded; worry appearing on face. "I heard on the radio. I'm glad you're okay. Why, it's such a crazy world out there. It's so much safer inside, you'd be better to stay in the whole time."

"The man who tried to shoot us stayed here."

"Yeah, I heard about that, too."

"What can you tell us?"

Sarah punched some keys into her computer. "Well he checked in at 5:30 three days ago, and checked out at midday the next day."

"Do you remember anything about him?"

"Not really. I only tend the shop. I heard he spent some time in the canteen."

"Okay. Thanks."

They descended in to the Vault-Hotel. This Vault had a cleanliness that made it as lifeless as the other Vault's he'd seen. They came to the canteen and they spoke to the head server.

"Yeah, he was here three days ago, around early evening. He was by himself most of the time, buying booze. He was sitting at the bar, feeling sorry for himself, saying he deserved better, stuff like that. About, I dunno, a couple of hours later this girl sits next to him and they start chatting. I heard a bit what they were talking about. She was blowing sunshine up his ass, telling him she could help him get up again. After a while they left and they were heading towards the rooms."

"Did you see which room they went to?"

"No."

"Do you know the woman's name? When did he get here? Leave?"

"I first saw her three of four days ago. In and out, she was hanging out, playing craps, and having a few drinks. Rather nondescript. I haven't seen her since that night."

"What did she look like?"

She described her. A young, fit woman in her early 20s, wearing a grey suit and armed with a Plasma Pistol.

"Sarah, look through your records. We're looking for a woman who checked in 3 or 4 days ago and left yesterday morning."

She did so and frowned. "I'm sorry, I can't find anything. I can't find any woman who booked in 3 or 4 days ago. That's really weird. If I didn't know any better, I'd say I've been hacked."

"Where to now?" Christine asked.

"The Gun Runners shack."

Isaac was diligently working away on the reloading bench. It seemed that was all he did.

"How are you?" He asked them, his voice anxious.

"We've been better. We heard the guy who shot us came here to buy the rifle."

Isaac nodded. "Yeah, we're, eh, sorry about that. We didn't know he was gonna go shoot you." The Courier nodded.

"Look, I figured you'd be coming so I made a holotape from the Vendotron's visual records from that day." He handed The Courier a holotape. "Thanks, Isaac."

"Anything for our best customer."

Chapter 5

They plugged in the holotape to the computer. Nervous anticipation filled the Penthouse. The video showed the same nondescript view for a few minutes before a man, his would be assassin, approached the Vendotron, in the company of the woman described. The man was nervous, tentative walking towards the Vendotron.

"Welcome Sir, or Madam. Would you like to purchase something?"

"Yes." The woman intoned. The man looked at her, uncertainty on his face, before facing the Vendotron.

"A Hunting rifle. A dozen rounds of .308 Armour Piercing Ammo. A scope as well."

"Total cost 1834 caps."

The woman handed over the currency and soon they were in possession of their weapons.

The woman loaded the rifle and attached the scope. Then she reached into her pocket and handed him a Psycho syringe.

"Just wait in the third floor of that building we agreed on. Once he goes by, you'll have a clear vantage point. If you do the job, I'll pay you 40, 000 caps. More than triple what you owe. If you get caught, I'll send the money to your family and you won't have any more debts. And don't forget the words. Deal?" The man nodded. She gave him the rifle; he slung it over his shoulder. The conspirators parted ways, the woman walking northwards, out of sight.

"Yes Man, I want every Securitron's memory scanned for that woman."

"Already working on it, boss."

The Courier sighed. "What do you think, Yes Man."

"Still computing, boss. It's possible this woman isn't related to the NCR, it's also possible she is NCR. It's possible she's working independently, or for an unknown third party. It's difficult to assign mathematical certainty to these factors without more data, boss."

They went back up to the Suite. They lay on the sofa together, tired and weary after a long couple of days. They slept uneasily that night.

The Courier found himself north of Vegas, near the northern passage to Zion. A dark sky was brooding overheard, storm clouds whirring violently, as if a tornado were about to be unleashed. The ground shook violently and he fell. He looked above and saw a giant mechanical monstrosity marching towards him. He rolled away, narrowly avoiding being crushed by its steel feet.

"Democracy is not negotiable." It intoned, like something from a pre-war propaganda holovid.

"Communism is a lie. America will always triumph." The Robot began shooting lasers from its eyes, laying waste to the towers of the Strip. Gomorrah. The Tops. The Ultra-Luxe. The Lucky 38. The saucer of the 38 spun and flew outwards. Even though he was far away, he could see Christine's body falling out from a massive hole in the saucer. He screamed her name and he could hear her screaming as she fell to her death. He heard the squashing sound of her body hitting the ground.

He saw dozens of Vertibirds land, unloading Enclave soldiers, wearing power armour and yielding Gatling Lasers, Plasma Casters, Missile Launchers, the most powerful weapons he'd seen. They destroyed every building they ran into. The Vegas Medical Clinic, the H&H Tools building, the Crimson Caravan Fort, the Gun Runners building, nothing escaped their wrath. A giant, two headed Yao-Guai, it's fur aflame, jumped overhead. He attacked the Enclave soldiers, growing bigger as more and more fire was laid into it, like it was feeding on the weapons fire.

He heard mocking laughter. Sitting next to him was Dean Domino, sitting in a throne chair, nursing a cigarette. "Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the happiest one of all." The Giant Robot stopped his merciless attack and addressed Dean. "There can be no happiness so long as communism lives." "Who's happier then, me or him?" "You are, Dean, for communism is a lie." Dean laughed. "See, you're not so happy now, are you? Still think you're happier than me?"

He looked up to the sky and saw dozens of streaming contrails, ICBMs coming from all directions, heading towards the Vegas Strip. The explosions blinded him and his skin melted. The ground began to shake and was tossed about by some unseen force like a ragdoll.

He awoke, Christine shaking him. "Holy fuck!" He swore. "What is it? You're sweating!" Concern plain on her face. "The nightmare of history."

Chapter 6

"Yes Man, I want to investigate the Enclave angle. I'm going to Jacobstown to talk to Marcus. He knows a thing or two about them."

"You know boss, you really don't have to do this. You could just send a Securitron up there and speak to him via video link."

"I'm not Mr. House. I'm the Courier."

Christine and the Courier left the 38, ED-E and two Securitrons in tow. He was almost getting used to their presence. He and Christine wordlessly walked towards Jacobstown. The snow covered peaks were a nice change from the sun baked desert.

Jacobstown was growing nicely. There were now almost a hundred Nightkin and Supermutants living more or less peacefully. Marcus was at the main gate, as always maintaining a vigilant watch.

"It's good to see you, Courier."

"Good to see you too, Marcus. How have things been?"

"Fairly good. Doc Henry's making some good progress. He hasn't told me, but he thinks he's close to a cure."

"Why hasn't he told you?"

"He doesn't want to raise false hopes. Listen, thanks a lot for your help. I've only ever met two humans in my life who've ever been helpful to our kind."

"You guys deserve it. It's not like your some dumb green monsters that randomly show up in illogical places and start blasting away."

Marcus nodded, he seemed almost grateful for the compliment. "One of our new arrivals I think is an old friend of yours. He said he came from some place called the Sierra Madre. Has the name Dog carved on his chest."

Both Christine and the Courier nodded.

"How's he doing?"

"He's doing quite well. He's the least schizophrenic Nightkin I've ever met. I suspect he has you to thank for that."

"Listen, I'm here on important business, Marcus. We need to talk."

"Go on."

"Tell me what you know of the Enclave."

"Why?"

"I need to know about them. I think they might've been behind my assassination attempt."

"That's serious. I don't see how likely it is. But you never know, there are so many underground bunkers lying about. Here's what I know." Marcus went on, about Broken Hills, the Chosen One, and the Poseidon Oil Rig. He'd heart parts of this story before, but never in such detail. The Courier and Christine listened, they asked many questions. Christine had heard of the Enclave, they were almost a mythical adversary, but contact had been lost so long ago they'd assumed the status of a boogeyman, a spook story to convince kids to go to bed early. To hear from a firsthand witness was much more insightful than reading a book or watching a holovid.

"What did the assassin say to you?"

The Courier told him. Marcus froze in his tracks.

"I've heard those words before. The last words of Frank Horrigan."

Both Christine and the Courier swore.

"Listen, Courier. I like what you're doing here... so far. I hope it ends up working out. The Wasteland needs new ways. You've got the best chance as any. Just don't foul it up."

"I won't."

"If you need our help, it's yours."

"Thanks, Marcus."

"Nothing new to report on the investigation, boss. The mysterious woman was last seen leaving the strip in the company of the assassin on their way to the Gun Runners. We've no record of her going through Mojave Outpost or Cottonwood Cove. "

"She could be anywhere, she could be anyone." Christine sighed.

The Courier sighed. "We're nowhere. We know a little bit but there's a lot more we don't know." He and Christine held another. Neither of them had ever been this worried. If they at least knew who the assassin was really working for, they could plan for that. But there were so many unknowns.

The ground shook. An alarm sounded as Yes Man appeared on the big screen.

"What is it?"

"I've got some bad news boss. There was an explosion in the old NCR MP prison. Someone blew a big hole in the southern wall. I estimate an 80% probability that Dean Domino's escaped. Securitrons report seeing two figures fleeing to the North East, riding on an old Pre-War motorcycle."


End file.
